Girl In Trouble
by theUglySpirit
Summary: Evie seeks out the father of Sandy's baby. The Evie-Sandy-OC story I wrote two summers ago and then took down for no reason.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this story and the sequel two years ago and then I took them down. I couldn't really say why. Rereading them, I decided they weren't too bad and so I'm putting them back. I'm not fishing for reviews. Your comments and critiques are always appreciated, but don't feel like you have to do it again if you already reviewed it once.

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders and the characters of Evie and Sandy.

**Girl In Trouble**

One

"I'll never understand it. I just think it's cruel," Sandy says.

"Then why do we keep coming back here?"

"Well, you know why we're here now."

Evie Bartlett sighs and gets up from where she has been sitting in the grass behind Sandy's car. She brushes off her skirt and tries to stamp the dust off of her white patent leather shoes. She wouldn't have worn them if Sandy had told her where they were going before they got in the car. Sandy stands up, too, and they walk across the gravel to the bleachers on the north side of the rodeo arena.

"I don't think it's cruel. I think they must feel real calm," Evie says. "They're always quiet when they get caught."

"Because they're giving up."

"Maybe," Evie shrugs. They climb the bleachers to the top and sit down. Evie stretches her legs out to rest her feet on the seat below. "Think about it, though. When they come out of the chute, there's shit flying at them from everywhere. The dirt beneath their feet, the sun in their eyes, two guys with ropes on horses chasing them…"

Sandy laughs a little, but then stops and scrunchs up her shoulders as though she is cold.

"…bleachers full of people watching every move they make," Evie continues. "And the arena must seem so big. It's not like there's nowhere to run. Jeez, there's everywhere to run, but no place seems any better than another. And then, they're caught. They get caught and it all stops. No more choices to be made."

"Y'all realize you're talking about cows, right? If you put this much thought into American Lit, I wouldn't have had to write that paper for you."

Evie makes a face. "Poetry doesn't make sense. Animals make sense. None of that metaphor crap. They just act."

"I still say it's cruel," Sandy says.

Evie shakes her head. "No, just watch. They're all panicked when they first start to run. When they get caught, though, it's like they're relieved."

"It's a cow," Sandy says again.

"It's a steer, and so what? It's either just a dumb animal without feelings or it's a creature just like us capable of feeling fear and relief. You can't have it both ways."

"Tell me about it."

They both fall silent again. Evie looks at Sandy and then follows her gaze out across the arena. Sandy is squinting, looking over the line of cowboys waiting in the center. To Evie, they all sort of look alike. When Soda was still riding, she always had to commit to memory the color of his shirt while they were still in the car or she'd lose him once he got on horseback. Today, the riders are all strangers to her, and Evie can barely tell one from another.

She listens to the announcer call names instead. "Dwight and Elden, no time. Ethan and Danny on deck. Tom and Bunny, you're in the hole."

Sandy sits up a little straighter, but says nothing. Evie watches the arena director drop the flag. The steer flies out of the gate and leads the riders too close to the fence. Evie guesses this will be a "no time" as well, but then the steer turns ever so slightly towards the center of the area, and the header loops the rope around its horns and is pulling it tight, leading the steer into the open when the heeler can catch its hind feet. He pulls his own rope taunt and the steer flops to its side, silent and motionless.

The heeler is an older man in a bright green shirt and a white cowboy hat. His movements are graceful and quicker than Evie can ever imagine her middle-aged father moving. She has seen him rope before and seen him around the arena. He is one of that breed of men who can tip his hat and call her "ma'am" without sounding the least bit patronizing. He takes his manners seriously, and Evie looks forward to seeing him. He makes her feel elegant and grown up.

The header is closer to Evie and Sandy's age. He is tall, almost too tall for his horse. His arms and chest are thick- from tossing hay bales, Evie guesses. From a distance, she cannot distinguish any memorable characteristics of his face, but she can tell he is smiling. Actually, he's beaming at his partner. He's good at what he does. He knows he is, even has the buckle to prove it, but he really wants to hear it from the older man. His enthusiasm is like a puppy's.

Evie feels Sandy shift next to her as she pulls her purse into her lap. "Him," Sandy says quietly, and then stands up and begins to climb down from the bleachers.

"Now what?" Evie calls as they pass the announcers stand.

"I got to go home and pack."

"Y'all are kidding, right? He's right there," she points to the gate where the riders have just exited the arena and are waiting to hear their time.

Sandy pushes her arm down, eyes wide. "Don't! I don't want him to see me."

"Just go talk to him. I'm right here. I'll be right here with you."

Sandy shakes her head. She takes Evie's hand and starts to pull her back to the car. "I don't want to talk to him. I just want to go."

"And do what?"

"I want to go home and pack. Tomorrow morning, I'm getting on a bus."

They reach the car and stand for a moment glaring at each other from their respective doors. Evie looks back towards the arena again. "What about him then?"

"What about him?"

"Don't you think he has a right to know?"

"No," Sandy says, opening her door. "It's nobody's problem but mine."

"Bullshit. It's my problem now, too."

"It is not."

"Yeah, it is. You told me, you showed me who it was, and now you're going to leave, and I'm going to be stuck here with Soda and him-" she gestures again at the boy on the horse, and Sandy flinches, "whoever he is."

"I'll talk to Soda. He doesn't have to know you know. And him…just forget it. Forget we even came out here."

Evie gets in behind the wheel of Sandy's father's car and jams the key in the ignition. Sandy hates to drive. She always drives to the end of her block and switches places with Evie. They'll switch again when they get within sight of Sandy's house. "So, what happens now? I mean, when you get to Florida?"

Sandy shrugs. "I don't know. It's kind of up to my grandma. I'll stay with her until the baby's born, and then she'll decide."

"She'll decide?" Evie is incredulous. "It's your baby!"

"Don't say that! It's not my baby. I don't want any baby. I don't want to think about it."

Evie forces the car into reverse. "So you're going to let someone else do the thinking? Jesus, Sandy, remember when we used to talk about how we weren't going to be like our moms? We weren't going to work all day and turn our checks over to our husbands."

"We weren't going to get knocked up at sixteen, either, stupid," Sandy says with a sick smile. "We weren't going to quit doing what we wanted to have kids."

"I just think that you aren't the only one who has to be responsible for this. He should know. He should have to do something, but, shit, you have to be responsible, too."

"Fuck you," Sandy says, with venom in her voice that Evie rarely hears. She has rarely ever heard Sandy curse. In fact, Sandy has often rebuked Evie for her filthy mouth. Usually, Evie winks and tells Sandy her idea of how ladies are supposed to talk is outmoded. This time, however, Evie says nothing. Sandy sighs. "I'm sorry, but you just can't say that. You don't know what it's like. You don't think I should do what everyone else tells me? Then you don't get to tell me what to do either."

"Okay," Evie says. _Then you don't get to tell me what to do either._


	2. Chapter 2

SE Hinton wrote The Outsiders. William Shakespeare wrote Hamlet.

**Girl In Trouble**

Two

"Evelyn, it's your turn," Mrs. Howard, the English teacher isn't even looking up from her grade book. Darwin Miller just finished reading his essay entitled "Why Jail Food is Better Than School Food" and Evie suspects Mrs. Howard may be scrawling a suicide note in that book of hers.

The assignment is to write about a paradox. Evie had needed to look up the word and read the definition a few times before she understood what it meant. Darwin most likely has not taken this step. His essay is more of a list, maybe some contemporary poetic form, of dinners he has eaten in both jail and school, and why he prefers one over the other. There is more bread in jail, and Darwin is fond of bread, it seems. Evie doesn't think that he presented a paradox anywhere in his essay, but she isn't entirely sure, and not being sure is making her nervous.

She is already nervous. Every time she has to read in front of the class, she always reads just to Steve, who sits in the back row with his hands folded across his chest. Steve never smiles, never makes faces, barely blinks until she finishes reading. He just looks back at her, and when she is done, he nods once. Today, however, Evie isn't sure if she can expect that assuring nod when it's all over. Today, she is not only reading to Steve, she is addressing him in what she has written.

Evie stands and walks to the front of the room. She turns to face Steve at the back, clears her throat, and begins, "Good morning. My name is Evelyn Bartlett. My essay is entitled 'Why Girls Don't Rumble'."

_Why Girls Don't Rumble- A Paradox of the Sexes_

_By Evelyn D. Bartlett_

_When I read __Hamlet__, it made me mad, especially when Polonius says, ""though this be madness, yet there is method in't". This is a paradox and an excuse. If sane people do crazy things, does that not make them crazy?_

_Whenever the boys I know fight, they always have a reason for it. It might be revenge, or to protect something. A lot of times they say they are doing it for us girls, for our honor. I think that is a paradox, too. How are you protecting my honor by fighting with someone else, by doing something that does not even involve me? How does it honor me when you do not even ask how I want to be honored? It doesn't feel like an honor. It feels like you would rather fight then listen to what I think. I would be more honored if a guy just asked me what I was thinking once in a while. _

_Girls don't have rumbles because we get that those good intentions don't matter if all they add up to is a bunch of busted ribs and split lips. I have seen plenty of fights and I even snuck out to see a rumble once. I watched from across the street, and it was madness. For days before it happened, I listened to all the boys talk about why they were going to fight. They laid out all kinds of rules like what weapons they could have, who would throw the first punch, and how they would know when it was over. It sounded really organized. When I saw it, though, it was just crazy. It was just a bunch of boys rolling in the dirt like mad dogs. _

_The craziest part was that when it was over, they just went home. It was over for them. I will never get that picture out of my head, though. I wish I hadn't seen it because now, whenever I hear about a rumble happening, I see that crazy picture and I am scared. I would never be part of a rumble. I wouldn't want to, and no one would ask me anyway because I'm a girl. Like so many things between boys and girls, though, the boys get to walk away and the girls have to live with it forever. _

Evie exhales and waits for the nod from Steve, but he isn't looking at her. He is looking down at his own notebook, writing something. She sets her essay on Mrs. Howard's desk and walks back to her seat. Anna Lee Davis opens her mouth in a silent, exuberant scream as Evie passes her.

When she reaches her desk, Steve's note is waiting for her, folded neatly. Evie waits until Mrs. Howard calls Anna Lee forward and is distracted before she opens it. All it says is "Get thee to a nunnery." Evie smirks.

"Are you comparing me to Ophelia?" She asks him when the bell rings and they meet in the hall. "Isn't it also a paradox if the crazy ones accuse the ones they won't include in the craziness of being crazy?"

Steve throws an arm around her shoulder. "Who's Ophelia?"

"The one who gets told "get thee to a nunnery'. She's the one who goes over the edge because her boyfriend's an idiot."

"You know you ain't going to convince the boys not to rumble with your little rant there. All's you're doing is convincing the girls we're assholes for doing it. So, then the girls hate the boys, and everyone's mad, but we can't rumble with the girls and solve it because they're girls. Is that a paradox?"

Evie rolls her eyes. "No, that you can't think of possibly solving anything without a rumble is just further proof that you're stupid. And don't' call my rant 'little'."

"Sorry. It wasn't little. It's longer than mine's going to be."

"You haven't even written yours yet?" Evie hates this about Steve. He acts like he doesn't care, like he isn't paying attention, but he knows damn-well who Ophelia is. Most likely, he'll scribble down something in the minutes before Mrs. Howard calls his name tomorrow, stand slouching in front of the class like he wishes they'd all drop dead at his feet, and get an fucking A for it. Evie's essay took her hours to write.

Steve winks. "I'm banking on the rumble changing the world tonight so's everyone will be celebrating tomorrow. I won't have to read mine 'cause we'll all be at the parade."

"You're an asshole," Evie tells him.

"The asshole who honors you, baby." He gives her a peck on the cheek, in full view of Mr. Symes, and strolls off down the hall towards the shop. Evie, now left alone to take the full brunt of Mr. Syme's glaring disapproval, shuffles her feet and waits for Kathy Smith and Anna Lee.

Kathy appears shortly, by herself. "Dang, Evie, whatever you said in English got Anna Lee so worked up she had to sneak out for a cigarette."

"I was just bitching about the rumble tonight," Evie tells her. "I thought I'd be sneaky if I wrote it like it had something to do with Shakespeare. That way I'd get to ream Steve in front of a room full of people and he wouldn't be able to shut me up."

"Did it work?"

"God, no, and I'm not even sure I got a good grade."

Kathy grins. She pauses to toss her hair back to one side and get a drink from the fountain outside of their History classroom. "That's what I like about you, Bartlett. You like to walk on the wild side. Did you do the reading for Turloff?"

"I had to work," Evie says, shaking her head. "I asked Doreen, though, and she explained it to me."

"Two-Bit's mom explained the Battle of Agincourt to you? Cripe, remind me to stay on that woman's good side. She's obviously smarter than both of us. Too bad she didn't pass none of it down to her boy."

"Evie!" Anna Lee is shouting as she comes towards them down the hall. Anna Lee is fun, but she scares the hell out of Evie. She is the only girl Evie knows of who ever stood up Tim Shepard. She is rumored to have accepted a date with him just so she could stand him up in revenge for every girl he ever left lonely on Saturday night. Anna Lee had left Tim sitting in his car in front of her house for an hour while she went to the movies with Evie and Sandy. Not knowing who this greasy-looking hood with the scar was sitting outside his house, Anna Lee's father had called the police. Tim, it turned out, already had a warrant for something and got hauled in for sitting in his car waiting on Anna Lee. "We shall overcome, Bartlett," she says when she reaches them. "Goddamn right."

"Miss Davis…" Mr. Turloff's voice growls from inside his room.

"Sorry, sir!" She calls back, crossing her eyes at Evie and Kathy as she says it. "Hey, how's all of Two-Bit and Stevie's buddies in the hospital doing?"

Evie shrugs and Kathy gives Anna Lee a run-down of the boy's conditions. They enter the classroom and Evie sits down at her desk. In front of her, Sandy's seat is still empty. Mr. Turloff had offered to let Evie move up in to it, but it felt weird to Evie. It is as if Sandy never existed. Even Kathy and Anna Lee have turned around in their seats and are talking with the boys about the upcoming rumble like it's the only thing that matters.

* * *

a/n:I originally posted this as a seperate story. I wrote it for the story, and then chopped it, but someone requested it.

_Honor Among Thieves_

_By Steve Randle_

_Is it a paradox if one paradox is the solution to another, like the way two negative numbers make a positive? I don't want to argue with my girlfriend, and I know I'm not supposed to start essays with questions, but I would like to respond to Miss Bartlett's ideas on boys and why they rumble. _

_She said that the paradox from Hamlet of there being method in madness defines a rumble because, even though we boys think up all kinds of rules and methods, a rumble is just a big, mad fray in the end. If it concludes in madness, it doesn't make any difference what led up to it, says Miss Bartlett._

_I would like to propose another paradox in relation to rumbles and guys in general: that is that there is honor among thieves. When you're from my side of town, people say all kinds of lousy things about you. They assume things, and sometimes we find ourselves living up to what they say. I've stolen a few hubcaps in my time, so I suppose that makes me a thief. Even if I wasn't, I'm still a greaser from the North Side, and I'll never be anything but in a lot of people's eyes. _

_When I go to a rumble, though, I find out who my friends are. They guys I fight with are the guys I know will take care of me, and I'll take care of them no matter what because we're all the same. _

_We protect each other no matter what because we understand where each other came from. I went to jail once, and I know that made my girlfriend real mad, but she's still my girlfriend, so I'm guessing deep down she understands that code, too. I did something bad, but I'm not a bad guy, not bad enough to break up with anyway. _

_Polonius thinks Hamlet has been driven mad by love melancholy since being separated from Ophelia. I know that "love melancholy" is not a real disease, but its pretty close. Me and my friends love what little we have enough that we're willing to fight like mad for it. _

When Steve is finished reading, Mrs. Howard looks at me and asks, "Evelyn, how do you feel about Mr. Randle's response to your essay?"

"I don't think it's fair," I say, looking straight at Steve, who is still standing at the front of the classroom. "He didn't come up with an original topic. He dovetailed off of mine."

The grin that spreads across Steve's face is almost enough to crack me up too. He loves that I fight with him. I always thought that Sandy was prettier than me, and they say that gentlemen prefer blondes, but Steve says Sandy was too "Mammy from Gone With The Wind" for his tastes: "Yes, Soda-baby…whatever you say, Soda-honey…" I guess I'm lucky that Steve considers himself a thief rather than a gentleman.

"Mr. Randle?" Mrs. Howard appears to be enjoying this almost as much as we are.

"Well, the assignment was to write about a paradox, an existing one, not make one up on our own. Everyone's assignment dovetails off of someone else's idea, including Evelyn's." He winks at me when he calls me Evelyn.

Mrs. Howard, the bitch, agrees with Steve. "Very true. Evelyn, do you have any other thoughts?"

Oh, I have a number of thoughts, Mrs. Howard. "I would like to know, when Mr. Randle refers to 'what little he has', if he is referring to his personal possessions or his girlfriend?"

A chorus of "oooooh"s wells up around me. Every once in about a billion years I feel smart in English class. This is turning in to one of those moments.

Steve doesn't wait for Mrs. Howard's permission to reply. "Actually, I was counting my girlfriend as one of my personal possessions." He flashes me the grin again, and I know he's full of shit.

Mrs. Howard is disappointed in Steve now, and also aware that she is rapidly losing control of the rest of the class. Some of the boys are clapping. The girls are fidgeting around me. "All right, Steve, you're done. I'll give Evelyn the last word."

I would like to announce that Mr. Randle is about to experience an extended period of "love melancholy" himself, but I don't have the guts to do it in front of the whole class. Instead, I suggest, "Since we have his admission in writing and all, can we call the cops on Mr. Randle for all the hubcaps he says he's stolen?"

"Hey, produce the hubcaps, baby," Steve says, still smiling. He tosses his essay on Mrs. Howard's desk and stalks back to his seat, giving me a little punch in the shoulder on his way by.

Anna Lee Davis turns around to me and whispers loudly, "Y'all are so cute, you make me want to yak."

"Don't you have a Shepard cock to tease?" I whisper back.

"That don't take up all that much time, really," she replies and turns back around, giggling, as I drop my head into my hands.


	3. Chapter 3

SE Hinton owns Evie and The Outsiders.

**Girl In Trouble**

Three

The sun is shining, a week later, on the day they bury Johnny Cade. There is hardly a cloud in the sky. The grass is still green, not at all washed out and turning yellow as would be typical for this time of year. The day has a Technicolor quality to it. Even Johnny's parents look put-together and appreciative of the outpouring of sympathy from their son's friends and their neighbors.

Once upon a time, Doreen Mathews stood on her own front porch and barred Jean Cade entrance and access to her son who was hiding inside. "And if you ever raise a hand to that boy again, I will put your head through a wall," Doreen had said, driving Jean from her door. Today, Doreen lays a gentle hand on Jean's arm and meets her eyes with tears in her own.

Evie opens her eyes and the sunlight burns a hot, white hole in her dream. She is standing between Steve and Sodapop, at the edge of the hole in the ground that will swallow their friend Johnny. She knows this is what is real because she can feel the sun on her skin and she can smell Soda's aftershave as he starts to sweat. It is too hot and Johnny's dad has to be on death's door himself judging by the smell of bourbon on him. Doreen Mathews would speak for them all if she burst out and told Jean that no one would give a damn if she was to fall in that hole after her son.

Evie wills it to be a beautiful day. She closes her eyes again and tries to wish away the dust and the crab grass. She wants flowers and a cloudless sky. And maybe it doesn't happen because it's a selfish wish. She knows she doesn't really want it for Johnny. She wants to imagine a beautiful funeral full of grace and fond memories so that when they leave, they can all be content. She wants them all to walk away from Johnny Cade's grave feeling like he had a full life and was recognized by them and all of nature in the way that he deserved.

"Keep dreaming," she tells herself. The sarcasm has begun to creep in on her perfect wish. When she reaches to squeeze Steve's hand, he squeezes back, but she isn't sure if he's acknowledging her gesture of comfort or making a fist. Even in her fantasies, Evie can't pretend that Steve isn't angry. Bunnies and fairy dust and rainbows could make Steve angry, and this is no rabbit hole they're staring into. For as much as she tries to keep watch over them all, Two-Bit's mom is nobody's fairy godmother.

Evie can feel Doreen's seething presence behind her just as clearly as she can see Jean Cade standing across Johnny's casket from her. Jean looks as though she has been hit by a truck or maybe a bolt of lightning. Her dark hair is fried and will not be contained by her hairnet. She is probably younger than Evie's own mother, and yet she looks like she could have grandchildren. She looks drained, both in color and in substance, as though she is imploding. She is a black hole of a personality with a physique to match.

Doreen is the kind of woman a person can just feel standing there. Her flesh is tightly wrapped around a ball of energy at her core. She radiates. Sometimes, she comes into the diner where she and Evie both wait tables, and Evie can feel her before she sees her. Evie can feel when it's going to be a good day. Two-Bit must be towing the line with Kathy. The kid's dad must have sent a check. Doreen is a ball of light today.

Other days, Evie knows to just light a cigarette and hand it to Doreen as she blows on by towards the time clock. Duck and cover. Doreen had a rough morning, and she's going to take us all for a walk across a bed of coals.

Right now, Evie wishes she could duck and cover so that Doreen's hot, angry eyes would quit shooting venom into her back. She is blocking Doreen's visage of Jean, the intended target of her disgust. Evie is taking the hit for Jean, a woman she can't decide if she hates or pities.

Behind her, Evie hears Doreen mumble something under her breath. She doesn't catch it, but she is confident it isn't useful. There is nothing useful about this scene. Nothing she can take away and recall later when Steve is shaking with rage or when she comes around the corner of the Curtis house to find Ponyboy crying. "Sure, he's walking through the valley of the shadow of death, but he fears no evil, guys. So, it's okay."

Evie has no rod and staff. There is no hope of guidance from Doreen or Jean. If Sandy was there, at least she would be a diversion. Sandy was a ball of light of a different kind. People couldn't help but stop and stare. Whether Sandy was a beacon or a web, Evie was never sure. Sandy was never much good at making everything better, but she sure knew how to make everyone think they were happy. She was like a drug.

Evie squeezes her eyes shut tight and the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Steve sees her and his face goes from "Oh shit!" to "I can't fix this!" in a quick second. His fix is a half-smile, as much as is appropriate given the occasion, and the brush of his sleeve across her cheek. Evie wonders if he would be so quick to attend to her if he knew that she wasn't really crying for Johnny at all.

Evie is crying because her wishful dream has turned into a vision of the future. What lies ahead are the lives of Doreen and Jean, angry and come to nothing. And in the middle is Sandy, with a baby growing inside her. At the beginning of her own journey is Evie, and all she sees in front of her is an empty, dark hole.


	4. Chapter 4

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Girl In Trouble**

Four

In the days that follow Johnny and Dally's funerals, Evie works every shift she can. She avoids the Curtis house best she can. She knows that Soda's letters to Sandy are being returned unopened because Steve tells her. She hasn't received any word from Sandy either, and she hasn't tried to make contact. She supposes Sandy would want to know about Johnny and Dally, but it is hard to know where to begin, and so Evie does nothing but work.

Steve is waiting in the parking lot when Evie gets off of work. She considers this an area of personal growth, that she will meet him now as soon as she is done at the diner. When she started going with Steve, Evie always made him pick her up at home, after she'd had a chance to change her clothes and reapply her make-up. Now, she lets him drive her home from the diner. She knows her hair has gone flat, her eyebrow pencil has evaporated and she smells like she has been deep-fat fried. Steve doesn't care, she has come to discover, and it just feels so easy.

"Hey, Monkey," he says to her. Monkey. When they were in fourth grade, Evie was the only kid in their gym class who could climb the rope all the way up to the gymnasium ceiling. Mr. Perkins had said she climbed like a little spider monkey. He may have meant it as a compliment, but all the other girls in class giggled, and Evie had wanted to climb that rope up into the rafters and stay there. She had forgotten all about it after a while, until she was fifteen and on her first date with Steve Randle. He remembered it, and he told her, "He was an asshole the way he embarrassed you. I wanted to beat the tar out of him."

Evie had tried brush it off. "Wasn't any big deal."

"Yeah, it was. What kind of guy calls a little girl a monkey? You really didn't mind being called a monkey? You think I believe that? I saw your face." Now, he calls her Monkey, sometimes to see if he can rile her, sometimes to remind her that he was one of the kids who couldn't climb the rope as high as she could. Evie takes it from him because it reminds her that he was watching her even all those years ago.

She kisses him. "Where to, handsome prince?"

"I don't know. That crappy space movie got held over at The Dingo. Speaking of alien life forms, Tim Shepard said he saw you at the rodeo last week. I didn't know you were still into that. Want to drive up there?"

_Fucking Tim Shepard_, Evie thinks. _Is there anything he doesn't see? _

Evie shakes her head. "I used to go up there sometimes with Sandy. She liked to hang out."

"I guess she did," Steve grumbles.

"Meaning?" Evie isn't feeling defensive, exactly. She just knows from experience that Steve loves to make veiled comments and have their meanings nearly beaten out of him with a stick. She suspects it is his way of processing what he's thinking. It's annoying, but also very often worth the trouble.

"Meaning shit. Meaning Sandy had herself some kind of double life." The car is moving now. Steve pulls out into traffic so that Evie sufficiently trapped before he asks, "so is that where she met him?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Did you meet him?"

Evie shakes her head. It won't do any good to lie to Steve; he has a supernatural ability to detect bullshit. "I know who he is, but I don't know him. You won't make me tell Soda, will you?"

"Hell no. He's already too worked up about it. I'd be mad, too, but…" he pauses and drums his fingers on the steering wheel while he chooses his words. "I'd just like to see him start forgetting about it, you know?"

Evie nods, relieved. "Yeah, I do."

"Then why'd you go back there? Why'd you go all by yourself? I'd go with you."

Again, Evie curses Tim Shepard. She pictures him in his fortress of evil, hovering over his crystal ball, barking orders at flying monkeys. "I don't know. Just a habit, I guess."

Steve frowns. "Hey, Evie? If it ever happens to us, don't run off, okay? If it's mine or not. I don't care, just tell me and don't run away."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know…well, shit, I'm sorry. I know you ain't cheating or anything. It just fucks with your head, you know, when you see if happen to someone else."

"Yeah, I know," Evie says.

* * *

Steve and Evie had been dating exclusively for about two months when he got picked up for reckless driving after a drag race. He was a little drunk, too, but the arresting officer neglected to charge him for that. He had met Steve before, seen him hanging out with Dally and Two-Bit, and had figured Steve was just always that mouthy.

Steve didn't call her to bail him, but Sandy had convinced Evie that it was her duty to go to him in his time of tribulation. She caught a bus downtown to the jail and hurried up the stairs to the second floor.

Evie had never been in the jail before. She expected it to be dark and cold. She expected her poor Steve to have chains around his ankles and be worn and emaciated from his almost-three hours of incarceration. What she didn't expect, along with the humming fluorescent lights and the smell of fresh coffee, was to see Steve, handcuffed to his arresting officer's desk, smiling and joking with Two-Bit Mathews as if they were in the back row of Mrs. Delany's room ignoring a biology lecture.

Evie wheeled around and tore out of the booking room before he could see the angry tears spill out of her eyes. Rushing down the stairs, her vision blurred, she ran into Dallas Winston who was on his way up to pay a fine of his own.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dally." She tried to duck away.

"It's all right. I'll live. Are you crying? What the hell are you crying for?" He gingerly reached out to touch her and then withdrew his hand before making contact, as though he was gauging the safest way to pick up a porcupine. Finally, he gave up attempting to pat her and said, "hey, come on. You need a ride? Shepard's downstairs. Me and him got a car."

It crossed Evie's mind to ask, and then she decided she didn't care, whose car Dally and Tim had. She nodded and followed him down the stairs and out onto the street, where Tim sat behind the wheel of a powder blue Rambler. Dally opened the back door for Evie and she slid into the middle of the seat. Dally got in next to Tim, who looked at him with confusion, but didn't say a word.

As Tim pulled away from the curb Dally turned around to face Evie. He offered her his cigarette. "Come on, Bartlett," he said, using her last name as though she was another one of the boys. "He'll be out by tomorrow afternoon. If he ain't, Tim'll bake him a cake with a file in it, won't you, Shepard?"

Tim grumbled something at Dally that Evie didn't hear. He and Dally exchanged a few increasingly desperate looks. Now the porcupine was in their backseat, and they had no idea how to get it out again. She heard Dally hiss at Tim, "You got a sister, man. Say something sensitive."

Tim looked back at Evie in the rearview mirror. "Evie," he said. "It'll be all right. Quit crying now." He used the same voice that Evie imagined he must use when ordering one of this thugs to "attack".

Dally glared at him. "That's it? That's all you got, fucker?"

Tim shrugged. "You going home, Evie?"

Evie shook her head. "I got to go to work."

"You sure you don't want to go home first? You look like shit, kiddo."

"Jesus Christ, why don't you have a girlfriend again?" Dally snapped at Tim. He turned back to Evie again. "You want to stop somewhere and wash your face or something?"

"I can wash it at the diner. Just take me to work, please, Tim."

Tim nodded and drove on. Dally squirmed in the silence. When they pulled into the diner parking lot, Dally asked, "Do you want me to go in with you?"

"Why would I want you to go in with me?" Evie asked, and then felt bad for rejecting his attempt at chivalry.

Tim smirked. "Yeah, why would she want you to go in with her, dumbass?"

"Tell she looks like shit again, Shepard. That'll make it all better," Dally grumbled. He got out and opened Evie's door for her. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, thanks for the ride. Tell Tim thanks."

"I'll be sure to bill you for his psychological services."

Evie couldn't help but smile. "Y'all are sweet, Dally."

"Yeah, don't let it get around, huh?"

She leaned in the passenger window and said to Tim, "How soon can you have that cake ready?"

"Soon as I part out this car, we'll buy some butter and eggs," he replied.

Evie walked into the diner shaking her head, oblivious to the mascara trailing down her face. She decided she would much rather be billed for Tim's psychological services than pay for Steve's bail. In their own twisted way, Tim and Dally had made it all right. Evie spent the rest of the afternoon imagining the two of them baking a cake and bickering.

Evie learned that day that Tim Shepard saw everything, and Dally couldn't keep his mouth shut about anything. Instead of Evie, Tim and Dally were the first ones to meet Steve when he got out of jail the next afternoon. Tim was driving a maroon Falcon by then and offered Steve a ride. When Evie saw Steve that evening and asked him about his split lip, Steve told her it was from a cop in the throes of a donut withdrawal.

"That how it happened, Stevie?" Dally had called to him across Curtis' yard. He remained on the street-side of the fence, the gate between him and Steve. "Way I heard it you had a little run-in with Shepard."

When Evie's eyes widened, Dally said to her, "you'll be receiving our bill for that, too," and walked off down the street, whistling a little tune.

"Monkey? Hey, earth to Evie," Steve's voice jars her back to the present, "what are you thinking about?"

"Psychological services," she says quietly, and almost immediately realizes she was going to spend the rest of the evening convincing him that her mind isn't elsewhere.

"What services? Would you like to elaborate on that?"

Evie shakes her head. "No, Steve Randle, I would like to buy you dinner. Let's pick something up and go for a drive."


	5. Chapter 5

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders. Thanks to Writersblock242 for lending an eye to this one.

**Girl In Trouble**

Five

Evie always feels out of place at the rodeo. She doesn't look like the girls who are regulars there, the ones who barrel race and wear boots and embroidered blouses like Loretta Lynn. She doesn't even know how to talk to a horse correctly.

She kept going with Sandy because it was like going to another country. She enjoyed observing the differences and she liked knowing that there was something else out there besides the life she knew in the city. And she liked the anonymity. At the end of the night, she could slip back into her own world again, where she and Steve spoke the same language, where the boys settled scores with drag races and switchblades, and where she spent an awful lot of time trying to figure out what girls were supposed to do.

Her stomach churns as she sits in the stands. Every time the announcer calls his name- Ethan- she feels her heart leap a little bit. Her anonymity is about to dissolve. The rodeo will cease to be a place where she can disappear. She has come to settle a score of her own.

She watches him and makes mental notes for over an hour. She observes who he talks to (a couple of younger boys, the arena director, and an older woman sitting near Evie in the stands), what he drinks (he alternates between lemonade and beer, a combination that further turns her stomach), and how he moves.

He must be as tall as Darry Curtis, yet there is something child-like about him. He has a round face and there is still baby fat in his cheeks. He must have been a chubby kid, Evie thinks, but somebody stretched him like putty. He got tall and the muscle forced its way through, but he has yet to lose his kid's face. He doesn't have Sodapop's movie-star features, but his movements belie the same insecurity. Soda, Evie knows, is insecure about his intelligence. She wonders what this guy is insecure about, and she wonders if that is what attracted Sandy to him. It seems to be the common characteristic. He runs his mouth a little too easily, just like Soda. He is too eager to please his roping partner, and too easily distraught when he doesn't.

He ropes well until dark. His times are still good, better than most of the others, but Evie can see him getting frustrated. He shakes his head as he rides back to the center of the arena to wait for his time. He isn't pleased, no matter what the time turns out to be. When the round ends, he and his partner are ranked third. Evie decides that his state of disappointment is the perfect opportunity for her to strike, and so she hops down from her seat and follows him away from the arena. She stays back a ways and watches him stop at one of the pick-up trucks parked alongside the road.

"Hey," she says as she comes close enough. He has taken the saddle off of the horse and has begun to brush her down.

He looks up and nods to her. "Hey," he says, and then, "hey, ain't you usually here with Sandy?"

Evie smirks a little at how quickly he has been roped in himself. Then he stands up to his full height, and all the bravado drains out of her. In an instant, even if she can't put a name to it, she knows exactly what Sandy saw in him. He is so big, and yet not tough or edgy in any way. Evie feels a desire to cook him dinner well up inside of her.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm Evie. Sandy went to visit her grandparents in Florida." Why did she say that? Why did she let that go so quickly?

"Huh," he replies and turns his attention back to the horse. "She never said anything about that."

"I don't think she got a chance, really," Evie says and it causes him to furrow his brow.

He turns back to look at her again. Suddenly, he is full of questions. Instead of asking them, though, he smiles his kid's smile and says, "I'm Ethan."

"Figures," she says. "Ethan the Cowboy. Like in 'The Searchers'."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'm a regular John Wayne. Shit, I hated that movie. Made me not want to be John Wayne anymore. That Ethan was a little touched."

"I liked that movie," Evie says. "The good guy wasn't always such a good guy. I liked that. It seemed more real than if he'd just been perfect."

Ethan shakes his head. "I think I preferred him when he was perfect. 'Rio Grande'- that was my movie. Hey, y'all need a ride or something?"

"I'm waiting for my boyfriend," she lies.

"Some boyfriend. He's had you waiting all afternoon."

Damnit, he's known she was there all along. Evie begins to feel desperate. She wants to dump the news about Sandy on him and run. She did not come here to talk about John Wayne movies. "Well, he's coming." It sounds weak, unconvinced.

He is not buying it. "Well, if you need a ride..."

"I don't," she says. "Thank you."

The horse shudders behind him, shaking off a fly. It nudges him in the back and he answers, "hey, knock it off."

Feeling upstaged, Evie blurts out in desperation, "Sandy's pregnant. She got sent away because she's pregnant."

"Really? That's rough. Why are you telling me?"

"Why do you think I'm telling you?" She snaps.

He stops brushing the horse, takes off his cap, and wipes the sweat from his brow. He leans back against the trailer and stares past her. "Okay," he says finally.

"Okay? That's it?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"Well, it's not okay. She's my best friend, and she's gone."

He nods. "Do you want me to go get her and bring her back? If she's gone, she's gone. What am I supposed to do?"

"I'd like you to have a little more of a reaction than 'okay', okay? You're just standing there. Is this normal for you? How many other guy's girlfriends have you knocked up?"

He glances down at her out of the corner of his eye. "That's interesting. She never mentioned any boyfriend, you know. If she's got a boyfriend, how do we know it's my baby she's having?"

Evie shuffles her feet. "Because they never…"

"Kind of makes me the better boyfriend then, don't it?" He is trying not to smile.

"What? No, you're not a boyfriend at all!"

"Why not?"

If he were Steve, at this point Evie would be screaming, "God, you're pissing me off!" at him, and she knows how Steve would react: "You're pissing me off, too!" Then, they would both stew in silence for a few minutes until Evie would say, "okay…" and they'd start talking again. She has been through that scenario so many times, Evie knows it by heart.

This isn't Steve, though, and she is standing here alone in the dark with him on his turf. She doesn't even know if Ethan knows about turf boundaries, or if he cares. Evie is clueless. Her pause gives him a chance to speak again:

"I don't know what you want me to do. She's already gone. She didn't want to tell me or she would have. I don't get why you're telling me now."

"Don't you care? Doesn't it bother you that there's going to be a kid out there somewhere that's yours?"

"If you'd give me a goddamned minute to think, it might start to bother me, yes. Is that what you wanted, for me to get all worked up?"

Evie has no idea. Her plan ended with telling him. She hadn't expected to have a discussion about it.

He flips his cap back on his head. "All right. It's getting dark. I'm giving you a ride. Get in the truck."

"No," she says. It comes out as a squeak.

"Don't worry. I won't get you pregnant, too. I don't think there's anything left on the seat…"

"Jesus!" She squeaks again. Now he's grinning at her.

"Come on. I got to get back Inola and put my best girl here to bed." He picks up the bridle and tugs the horse awake. "You coming or ain't you?"

Evie seethes at her obedience as she walks around to the passenger side and gets in his truck. He follows, leading the horse into the trailer. In another minute, he is sitting behind the wheel beside her, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, tossing an empty beer can out the window. The truck turns over hard, and Evie thinks to herself _Steve could fix that_.

"So, tell me something about Sandy," he says.

Evie crosses her arms across her chest and scowls ahead of her into the darkness. "I would have thought you knew Sandy pretty well already," she replies.

Ethan smiles and shakes his head at the windshield. He might be blushing a little, but Evie can't tell in the fading light. "You'd think that. Really, it wasn't…well, it wasn't anything to brag about. I had a couple in me…you know. We didn't mean for it to happen, and when it did. Shit…" He shakes his head again. Now she is sure he is blushing. "Let's just say I get why she wasn't exactly bragging me up to her friends. So, enough of that. Tell me about her."

Evie kicks at another empty that has rolled out from under the seat. "Well, she likes movies. She loves Sean Connery. We skipped school to see 'Goldfinger'."

"School? How old is she?"

"Sixteen. She'll be seventeen in January."

"Shit, are you kidding? Y'all are in high school? I made someone drop out of high school?" For the first time, Ethan seems genuinely distressed.

"Why? How old are you?" Evie asks.

"I'm out of fucking high school," he says. He reaches under the seat and digs frantically for a few seconds, Evie guesses for a can with beer still in it. Finding none, he says, "I'm twenty-three. I just figured she was my age. She just seemed so confident. I never met any high school girl like that."

Evie frowns. Does she not seem that confident? She's the one who's here to kick his ass, after all. She decides not to tell him that Sandy wasn't any more confident than any sixteen year old girl. In fact, maybe she was more like a six year old in that respect. Like Steve had said, Sandy was living a double life. When she and Evie came to the rodeo, Sandy was playing that she was someone else, someone confident, someone who came from a nice home, someone who knew what she wanted and had a chance in hell of getting it. The rest of the time, Sandy was just as uncertain as anyone else.

"So, tell me about you, then," she says.

"What do you need to know?"

"Do you have a job? Do you have a family?"

He snorts a little at the word 'family'. "I live in Inola with my auntie and uncle. I work on their ranch. I rope steers on weekends. Obviously, I'm a hit with the ladies." His voice trails off as he whispers, "fuck…" under his breath.

Evie looks at her shoes again, searching for something to say. The more she knows, the more trapped she feels. She likes him. He's playful and maybe a little shy. She could really like him if she got to know him, she is sure, and she hadn't any intention of getting to know him at all. Now she is positive she isn't going to be able to get him out of her head.

"So what's your boyfriend like?" He asks and the question stumps Evie, although she is relieved for the reminder that she one. Do they even have greasers and Socs in Inola? Will he think she's insane if she tries to explain it?

"He's good with cars," she says tentatively. "People think he's crabby, but he's really not. Not to me, anyway."

Ethan nods. "I get that. People think I'm a goof, but I'm really not. I got 'dumb ass' written all over my face, but if you really get to know me…"

"Super genius?"

"Like Wyle E. Coyote." He smiles at her and Evie wishes to God that she had a cigarette. She motions for him to turn left. The glow of the diner's neon-lit parking lot is like a light at the entrance to a cave. Evie is back in her own world. She could almost jump from the moving truck, she is so relieved.

"Up here, on the right, Super Genius," she tells him.

The look on his face when she says it tells her she's struck a nerve. _Just like Soda_, she thinks again. And yet, he's not. Sodapop Curtis has never held any kind of power over her. With the first squeak of the breaks, Evie is thanking him for the ride and is out of the truck like a shot before he can lure her into talking anymore. How long ago was it- a week?- that she was announcing to her English class that she wanted a boy to ask her what she was thinking? Ethan has asked about everyone but her, and it's killing her that he hasn't. Even more frustrating, Evie has no idea what she'd tell him if he did.


	6. Chapter 6

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders

**Girl In Trouble**

Six

He comes through the door of the diner two days later and a wave of nausea washes over her. This wasn't supposed to happen. She broke the news and left him to ponder his misdeeds. He wasn't supposed to come and find her, sit down at a table in her section and eat lunch in her universe. Evie feels like a fool. She spent hours planning what she would say when she met him, but it never occurred to her that he would act on his own and she would have to meet him again.

She yanks Doreen Mathews back into the hall leading to the restrooms, probably harder than someone should yank the arm of a woman more than twice her age. "You have to take table six for me. Please."

With all of the subtly of a fire truck, Doreen leans around the corner and assesses the five alarm inferno seated at table six. She smiles at Evie. "He's cute, but he's a little young for me, Evie-Girl."

"Please, Doreen. I can't talk to him."

"I bet you can."

"Doreen," Evie tries not to whine. She tries to sound urgent and serious. "I can't. Something bad will happen."

"Define bad." Christ, if Two-Bit doesn't come by it naturally. Doreen can even do the eyebrow thing, and she's doing it now: cocking her eyebrow up at Evie as she ducks her head to light a cigarette. This, Evie thinks, is exactly why Doreen has to handle Ethan. Ethan is cocky, but Doreen can give cocky a swat on the butt and send it to bed without supper.

"He's a friend of Sandy's. He's going to want to talk about her."

"Really? Just how good of a friend of Sandy's is he?"

Damnit, this woman! Evie pulls her into the ladies room, flips on the light, and shuts the door. She checks herself in the mirror quickly. Does she just have all this stuff tattooed across her forehead or is Doreen a witch? "It's him, Doreen. He's the one, and I told him."

"Well, well now. So you dropped that in his lap and thought you could just disappear?"

Evie shrugs in defeat. "I was hoping it would work that way."

"Where's he from?"

Evie doesn't know why that makes any difference, but she says, "Inola."

"Well, if he came all the way from Inola to see you, then I'd guess he ain't going to be deterred by you not being the waitress assigned to his table."

"Please, Doreen," Evie begs again. "I just need a minute to think."

Doreen flicks her ashes in the sink, and then sticks the remainder of her cigarette between Evie's lips. "All right. I'll buy you a little time, but he'd better tip like the King Solomon himself, Evie-Girl, or you owe me."

"I promise next time Two-Bit comes in, I'll wait on him. Thanks, Doreen."

Doreen pauses to smooth her hair in the mirror. As she opens the door, she winks at Evie, "Want to look my best. Maybe I'll get lucky."

Evie's eyes widen, but Doreen is gone into the hall before she can say, "ew!"

A minute to think is about all Doreen gives her. Evie goes back into the kitchen to fill napkin dispensers. She turns around when she hears Doreen say, "order," to the cook. She beckons Evie with her pencil.

"He wants to talk to you," Doreen says, "And he ordered chicken, so he's going to be here a while."

Under normal circumstances, Evie loves a customer who orders chicken. In any of its forms- fried, grilled, broiled- chicken takes forever to cook, and this means salads, sometimes appetizers, always drink refills. It means time building report and making chit-chat with the customer, and that means a good tip. Evie wonders if Ethan knows this. Was he a fry cook in high school? Does he have an aunt who works in a diner in Inola? Or does he just like chicken because he's a son of bitch…

"Can't you tell him I'm busy?"

"There's no one else here, Evie. I get the impression talking to him that he's just a little bit smarter than that."

"What did you talk to him about?" The panic in Evie's gut begins to rise up into her esophagus. The decision to give Doreen free reign to converse with Ethan may have been a dangerous one.

Doreen smiles a little too slyly. Evie plants her feet and prepares to have her chain yanked. "We talked about the weather, about that big, shiny belt buckle of his, and about the fabulous fried chicken special this wonderful establishment is offering today."

"You told him to order the chicken?"

Doreen shrugs and tries (and fails) to look innocent. "I didn't tell him to do anything, but I sure made it sound damned good. And you have to admit, Evie-Girl, it is some damned good fried chicken."

"But now he's going to be here forever."

"Not forever. Just long enough to say what he needs to say to you. I think you have a break coming." Doreen jerks her head in the direction of seating area. Evie glares at her, but Doreen has already turned away and is pulling new packages of napkins down from a shelf. "You can always choose to think of it like this, Evie. If you go out there and talk to him now, that makes you at least twice the woman Sandy ever was."

"I don't care about Sandy," Evie says, and then is surprised that she said it.

"Then why'd you go looking for him in the first place? You didn't want him to own up and take responsibility? Make him feel like shit for what happened?"

"I did, but then I met him. I wanted him to be a rat, but he wasn't. Now I don't know what to do."

"Now you go talk to him," Doreen says. "And take him another Pepsi. He's a talker. He's going to be thirsty."

Evie drags herself back out to the counter. She takes a bottle of Pepsi out of the cooler and fills a cup with ice. The beating of her heart is deafening. She wants to break the bottle over the counter and thrust it into her chest, but instead she walks to his table and sets the bottle down.

"Doreen said you needed another drink."

Ethan looks up and seems relieved to see her. "Yeah, thanks. It's hot as fuck out there. Are you my waitress now?"

"No, I'm on break. She also said you wanted to talk to me."

"Yeah, you got a minute?" He motions for her to sit down.

Evie slides into the booth across from him. "I got about five," she says.

"Okay, I'll give you the short version then. I was talking to my brother, and I told him about all this. He said I have to do something."

"Like what?"

"He wasn't real specific. We argued about it for a while. I guess he kind of left it up to me, but he says I got to do something. It isn't fair. She doesn't just get to walk away and forget, so I shouldn't either."

Evie nods.

"Does she want to keep the baby? Did she ever tell you?"

Evie shakes her head. "I don't know. I think she was still kind of in shock when she told me. She pointed you out to me, but she never said anything else about you." Evie doesn't elaborate that Sandy never really talked about Sodapop Curtis either. When she and Sandy were together, Evie had gotten in the habit of not mentioning Steve. It was embarrassing to gush when the other person didn't gush in return.

Ethan took a drink of his Pepsi. "Well, I guess what I need to do is talk to her and find out. I need you to get a hold of her for me."

Evie shakes her head again.

"Please, Evie. Just let her know that I want to talk to her. You don't have to tell me where she is. Let it be up to her. Just call her or write her and tell her I want to help her out."

Doreen appears with Ethan's plate. She smiles at Ethan and then raises that eyebrow at Evie again. "Is there anything else you need?" It's unclear whether she is saying it to Ethan or Evie.

"No, thanks," Ethan says and Doreen goes.

Evie sighs. "I don't know if she wanted me to tell you. If I get a hold of her, she'll know it was me, Ethan."

Ethan smiles as he digs into his chicken. "Well, that's not really my problem, is it?"

"Asshole," Evie snaps. She isn't sure if she's mad because he's right or because he's laughing at her.

"What? If you had kept your mouth shut, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be blissfully ignorant, and you'd continue to admire my horsemanship from affair."

"I was not admiring you or your horsemanship."

"Of course not," he winks at her. "Just like I wasn't admiring those big brown eyes of yours or that smart little mouth. You could've kept it shut. I'd have probably asked you out. You would have shot me down…you would have shot me down, right?"

Evie glares at him.

"Right?" He says, grinning down at his potatoes like they're in on it. "You got yourself a boyfriend. Of course, so did Sandy and that didn't stop her. Damn, I got to keep my dumb country ass out of Tulsa. Nothing but trouble around here."

"Then why don't you," Evie hisses. "Why don't you drag your dumb country ass out that door and stay out of Tulsa?"

Ethan shrugs. "I was just in town visiting a friend, or so I thought. You got to get back to work. I'll leave my address with the waitress. When you get a hold of Sandy, you can tell her to drop me a note. That way you won't have to talk to me again."

A lump wells up in Evie's throat, and she doesn't know why. "I'm sorry, Ethan," she whispers, although she doesn't know why she's sorry either.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he says. A moment ago he was sitting back straight on his side of the booth, towering over her. Now he is hunched over his plate, moving his green beans around with a fork like a child plotting to hide them in the potatoes. He shakes his head. "You know what else my asshole brother said?"

"What?"

"He said I should stick to horses because I always pick the wrong girl."

Evie darts out of the booth so fast she almost flattens Doreen, who is on her way back with the ticket. She runs for her refuge in the bathroom, but leaves the door unlocked, hoping that Doreen will follow her and say something motherly. Doreen doesn't come, and Evie stands gripping the edge of the sink, staring back at the girl in the mirror daring her to cry.

The reflection takes her dare.


	7. Chapter 7

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders

**Girl In Trouble**

Seven

_There's a time when every girl learns to use her head_

_Tears will be saved till they're better spent_

_There's no time for her to be afraid, so instead_

_She takes care of business, keeps a cool head._

_-Romeo Void, "A Girl In Trouble (Is A Temporary Thing)"_

Evie writes the letter over and over. Each time, she begins with a different apology: _I'm so sorry… You're going to hate me for this… I did something really stupid…_

She stops and thinks a while after that last one. She had stepped over a line, maybe, but since meeting Ethan she doesn't really think what she did was that stupid. Ethan isn't stupid.

Something else is bothering her. From the moment she had said to Ethan, "I don't know if she wanted me to tell you", Evie couldn't help but feel like Sandy had orchestrated the whole thing. Why else would Sandy dragged her to the rodeo and pointed him out? The more she thought about, the more Evie began to feel angry and used. She would have gladly stood at Sandy's side that day, if Sandy had wanted to confront Ethan herself. Instead, she'd left town and left Evie with the decision.

Evie throws drafts one, two, and three in the trash. She sits down and writes draft four quickly and easily. Then, she puts it in an envelope and leaves it unsealed. Writing has never been Evie's strong suit. In school, she had Sandy read over everything she wrote. A couple of times Sandy just threw up her hands and rewrote Evie's papers entirely. Evie knows she will feel more comfortable if she has someone read the letter before she sends it.

Inola, Oklahoma is 28 miles east of Tulsa, but it might as well be half way to the moon to Evie. She doesn't know how she is going to explain the miles she is putting on her father's car to him or her absence from school to Steve. The further she drives away from the city, the more it feels like she is entering some kind of jungle where she could be swallowed up at any moment by strange beasts.

The sign at the edge of Inola proclaims it to be the "Hay Capitol of the World" and bailing hay is exactly what Ethan Irwin is probably doing, according to a woman behind the counter at the feed store where Evie stops and asks directions. She directs Evie to go north out of town and to follow a string of colloquial landmarks: an abandoned schoolhouse (turn right), a large glacial rock painted white (a mile passed that), a light blue house with several large dogs that will chase her car (it's the adjoining field, but drive down about a quarter miles until you lose the dogs).

It is just passed noon and Evie spots Ethan sitting on the tailgate of his truck at the edge of a freshly mowed field. The same older woman Evie saw him speak to at the rodeo is there, eating lunch with him. Evie presumes this is the aunt he lives with.

Ethan doesn't wave to Evie when he sees her, but he smiles, stretches, and stands up. He says something to his aunt, who replies and reaches up to cuff him playfully upside the head. She walks passed Evie to the road, nodding a 'hello' as she departs.

"Afternoon," he says and then, "Christ, I hope it is. I'm about sick of this." He jerks his head towards another flatbed truck half-loaded with bails.

Evie has no idea what to say to reply to that. Instead, she tells him, "I wrote that letter to Sandy. I wanted you to read it first, though. I didn't want to say anything that wasn't my place to say."

"Now you're worrying about that?"

"Go to hell. Just read it." She hands him the letter. The paper almost glows in the sun, and he squints in the light it casts.

When he finishes, he hands it back to her and says, "that about nails it. Send 'er off."

"What are you going to do if she writes back?"

Ethan shrugs. He opens a small ice chest behind him and produces a can of beer. He offers it to Evie, who shakes her head. He opens it for himself, and says, "I don't know. Whatever she wants, I guess."

"What if she wants to get married or something?"

"All right, maybe not whatever she wants. I'd help raise my kid, though. I don't think she's going to want to get married."

"Why not?"

"Shit, at this point, I know you better than I know Sandy. It would be like her marrying the random guy at the gas station."

Evie thinks of Soda and laughs a little. "Ironic."

"How so?"

"Never mind. I get your point."

He leans back against the tailgate again and taps the space beside him beckoning her to sit down. "So, you want me to let you know what she says, if she says anything?"

Evie chooses to lean with him instead. "Why would you do that?"

"Don't know. Just thought you'd want to know. Seeing as how this is all your fault, and seeing as how she's probably never going to speak to you again."

"Okay, first of all, I didn't get her knocked up…" She doesn't snap at him this time. She knows he's teasing now.

"Knocked up is so harsh. Can't we say 'in the family way' or something?"

"No, we cannot because you've made it clear there is not going to be any 'family'. Let's call it what it is."

Ethan gives in. "Fuck, all right. I'm responsible for that. I'm still guessing she isn't going to have anything to say to either one of us. Which means this is it."

"This is what?"

"We're done. We got nothing more to say to each other either. Unless you want me to get in touch and confirm that she hasn't replied to my letter."

"You know where I work."

"Nah, I want a phone number. A real one. I want to call and get your dad on the line and say, 'May I please speak with Evie, sir?' And then I want to hear about how he rips you a new one because some guy is calling for you who ain't your boyfriend. It will be my revenge."

"Actually, my dad would probably turn cartwheels if some boy other than Steve started calling." Evie rolls her eyes.

Ethan nudges her with his elbow. "I'll tell him I'm the guy who put Sandy 'in the family way'. That'll change his mind."

"Why do you want to call me?"

"Because I like you. I hate coming to Tulsa because I don't know anybody. I just want someone to say 'hi' to when I come into town."

"Just say 'hi'?"

"Sure, why not? I'm an adult. I'm an old-ass twenty-three year old, remember? I can be friends with a girl without there being anything more to it."

His eyes are same color blue as the cloudless sky above them. He looks straight ahead as he drinks his beer, and Evie can't tell if he's flirting or serious. She tries to imagine what Sandy must have been thinking when she met him, if she thought she could get inside his head or if he had meant anything to Sandy at all. Evie suspects that latter, and to hear Ethan tell it, the feeling (or lack thereof) was mutual. She doubts he ever asked Sandy to be his friend.

"All right, then," she says. "You got me curious. Next time you're in Tulsa, call me, and we'll see if you really just want to say 'hi'."

She writes her number down on the paper with the feed store woman's directions and hands it to him. He eyes her with over-acted suspicion. "This the real number?"

"Next time you're in Tulsa, you call it and see."

He thinks for a moment, takes a sip of his beer. "Evie, you know I'm not such a bad guy, right? I'm a just guy who fucked up."

"You're not a bad guy at all," she says and thinks _and it's sort of becoming a problem for me_. "Why do you care if I think you're a bad guy or not?"

"Because you're smart about people. I can tell. Me, I'm just smart about horses, but I'd be open to a little help expanding on that. You want to help me with that?"

"Well, it depends on how much more fucking up you intend to do."

"Maybe just a little more," he says and tips his beer can to her, toasting either her or his intention to continue fucking up. Evie smiles and shakes her head at him and then turns and walks back to the car.

* * *

_Dear Miss Bartlett,_

_I take it from your letter that you are a friend of my granddaughter, Sandy's. I have returned all the letters from that boyfriend of hers, but I couldn't read what you wrote and not write back. Sandy is gone. She and I had a big fight about what was to become of the baby, and she left almost a week ago. I was hoping she'd go back up to Tulsa and I'd hear from her parents, but I don't think that has happened. _

_If you hear from Sandy, will you please contact me? All I want to know is that she is safe. She can do what she wants about the baby. I won't meddle no more. _

_I don't think she has much money, so I don't know how far she could have gone. She's always been so dumb about boys; I hate to think of what's happened to her out there. It's all I can do to keep her grandpa from getting in the car and driving off to look for her. We don't even know which way she might have gone. _

_Again, if she comes home or you hear from her, please let me know. We're worried sick. She was in good health when she left, but she'll be getting big here soon and travelling won't be easy on her._

_Sincerely,_

_Mrs. Wilma Sullivan_

* * *

a/n: There's a sequel called "Boys and Girls in America". I'll work on putting that one back together too.


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